


He Is Perfect.

by drarryangels



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco pov, Drarry, Fanfic, Fanfiction, Ficlet, M/M, Over the Years, Sweet, Writing, fast forward, mentioned rape, over time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryangels/pseuds/drarryangels
Summary: A little fast forward throughout the years of the war from Draco's perspective.





	He Is Perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Just a slight warning! You probably saw in the tags, but this story DOES mention rape. However, it isn't graphic at all, and there are no other mature subjects in the story.

He's so beautiful. 

When you first meet him, he is so tiny you wonder if he even exists. He's wearing Muggle clothes that are far too big for him, and his hair is too long, and his glasses are cracked. You think he's seven, but then he says he's on his way to Hogwarts. He only answers your questions with no, and you don't know if he's stupid or just rude. You think he must be both, and you don't give him a second thought when he leaves Madame Malkin's.

You hate that everyone is accusing you of being the Heir of Slytherin. As if. You would have already been bragging about it if it were true. And he, oh he gets on your last nerve. He's so good at everything that you just want to punch him in the face. When you tell Mother about him, she answers with a letter that only says  _you'll see._ You have no idea what she means by that, but he looks so sad when he sees you getting sweets from Mother everyday, so you keep the letters to rejoice in the memories of pure spite. You also miss your mother just a bit.

Everything starts hurting in your third year of school. Father is cruel as always, but Mother won't protect you anymore. He has everything. Friends who love him, teachers who love him, people who don't even know him love him. That makes you angrier than anything else. Your friends don't really like you. They're more your father's friend's children rather than people who actually want to spend time with you. When the hippogriff cuts your arm, you act like it hurts more than it really does. All you wanted was for him to look, and to care, and to befriend you, but it didn't happen. He glared at you and shouted, and hated you. You deserved it. He was almost something of an object of fascination. Something to observe, something to want for yourself. Not in a weird way, just in a _why don't I get the same amount of attention as you_  way. 

But by fourth year, you know you're all in. He's all you see. Day in, day out. His face everywhere you go, the anxiety building in your stomach when he nearly dies time and time again. All you think about is his hair, his eyes, his skin. And how he looks so friendly and lovely when he's not looking at you. You climb up a tree to mock him, and only when your friends tell you you looked stupid do you realize that no one goes through the work to climb up a tree to mock their enemy. You hate yourself so much. Boys are not supposed to love boys. Malfoys are not supposed to love Potters. The dark is not supposed to love the light. 

You do everything to raise your status in that fifth year of school. And yet, he still pays no notice to you except for to throw insults. When your father is caught in the Ministry of Magic at the end of the year, you feel nothing. No shame, no anger, no pride, no pity. You feel like nothing, and cold steels over you. The Dark Lord moves into your home, and it occurs to you that the mansion was never really a home anyways. You would even rather be at the Weasley home than at yours where there is nothing but evil, and pain, and torture around every corner. 

Out of all the years of hidden misery and spoiled riches, sixth year takes the prize. The Dark Lord seems to chase you around every waking and sleeping moment, and all you want is to be dead. At least before, the fields behind Malfoy Manor were sunny and green. All you had to do was run out the French doors and you would be in the sun, free of everything from your blonde inherited hair and the random Charms assignment you were supposed to work on over break. You wished that you could go back to those times. Maybe you weren't exactly happy, but at least you were in control of your life. But it wasn't like that anymore. Everything was dark, and you felt nothing but unending fear. You let your guard down once. One time. You were so tired, and you wanted nothing but to sleep, and you didn't do the Occlumency exercises, and suddenly he could see everything. Your life was laid out before the Dark Lord, nothing to stop him from seeing what he wanted. You couldn't wake up, for he was good at the paralyzing endeavors of the mind. And when you woke up, sweating, alone, he stood there waiting for you. He knew everything. The longing for real friends, the unwanted dreams about boys, the guilt of unfinished schoolwork assignments, the resentment towards your family's choices. Between your father's capture at the Ministry, and this, you knew that he would tear you apart and burn you alive. And you complied. You said nothing when he invited you to his chamber to brand you with his mark. You said nothing when the Death Eaters suddenly knew everything about you although you can't remember ever even telling them how old you were. You said nothing when suddenly the lowliest of his ranks thought it their duty to pull you aside and curse you, and beat you, and hurt you until you couldn't remember your own name. You said nothing when Fenrir Greyback grabbed your arm and led you away. You said nothing when he took off your clothes and exhaled blood into your mouth. You said nothing when he took away the last thing that was supposed to be yours. You said nothing, nothing, nothing. And when school started up again, you still said nothing. You tried to carry out your assignments, and you cried when you got mixed up in your head trying to differentiate in your head which  _him_ you loved, and which one had taken everything. 

But the him you loved. You still knew who he was. He was in a state of constant devastation, but he looked so determined, and so fierce. You knew. You could recognize it in the way you couldn't even look at him anymore. You didn't deserve to look at him. His light didn't need to be tainted by the gray of your eyes. You stayed away, and you know he noticed. He was no longer an obsession to mess with. He was the beacon of hope, a glimpse of the dream of a life that you would never have. It all seemed to perfect that afternoon in the bathroom when he shouted the curse and ripped you to pieces and then ran. Sure, you were saved. But not because anyone cared. No. Because you had a purpose. The purpose was to be slaughtered, to be made a spectacle of, but it was a purpose all the same. 

The seventh year where you should have been at school was no different. When you closed your eyes, you thought of the torches and corridors of Hogwarts. The holiday decorations that would go up, and the lights floating around the castle. You knew, with Snape in charge, that none of this would come into existence, but it was nice to think about. Nice to imagine that while everything has crashed and burned, that Hogwarts has stayed intact. 

Before you know it, he's sitting in front of you. The one you think you love. It's been so long since you've seen him, and his face is puffed up by what looks like a Stinging jinx. He doesn't have his glasses on, but his eyes are green. They've always been this green, and you don't know why people always used to tell him that he looked like Lily, because the way he carries those eyes is all his own. You deny confirmation of his identity when asked, and based on the relief etched into his face, you think you must have done something right for once. 

Corban Yaxley gets to take a turn with your body that night. It hurts. 

The war ends with a blinding flash of confusion, and he is covered in dirt, and blood, and horror. What you wouldn't give to hug him, and to tell him he did it. He saved you. You don't. You sit in the corner, away from your parents, and away from everything you once you knew, and you cry. 

You don't notice right away when someone stands in front of you, waiting for you. You get scared, and start back, banging your head into the stone wall before realizing it's him. He looks sad, but he sits next to you. And he talks to you. Funny how that's what it took for you to get that he's a kid just like you, not an idol to be worshiped. 

When eighth year begins, you get a chance. You get another chance. 

And strangely, he becomes your best friend. You are pulled into his group of friends, and while once you may have been disgusted, now you fall almost instantly in love with getting to be in their lives.

He talks to you, and stands up for you, and you tell him about your days at school. Eventually, you tell him about what happened at the Manor. He looks at you with his eyes and mouth open, and hugs you so hard you don't know if you'll ever be able to breathe again. When you're with him, everything falls away into nothing but him. Soft dark curls waving over his ears. Glasses slipping slowly down his nose when he bends over his school work. Dark skin swirling warmth and the smile he throws over his shoulder at you when he doesn't think anybody is looking. 

He gets this look on his face when he's not really paying attention to what he's doing. When he's at his sweetest, most clumsy time when he's just with you. You've never seen him like this when he's around anyone else. Everything about him relaxes. When he hugs you, he isn't so stiff. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and presses his stomach to yours so he can feel you breathing. At first, he'll pull you close with his hands looped under your arms and pressing into your shoulder blades. He'll press his cheek into your neck and let out a sigh so slight you will only be able to hear it if you listen for it. He'll relax his arms once you put your arms around him. His hands will fall to your waist and he'll just stand there holding onto you. Every time he does it, you want to kiss the place where his neck joins with his shoulder. Sometimes you do. But so lightly that you don't think he can feel it. You don't even know if you're really touching him, or if it's just your imagination. 

You have this window that you can see the bottom of the Great Lake through in your dorm room. It scared you all throughout growing up in Hogwarts. But when he sneaks into your room for the first time, it's the middle of the night and he looks perfectly adorable and sleepily rumpled. His eyes are red, and he whispers to you that he can't sleep and you were person he wanted to see. You sit up in bed and hug him when he sits next to you. He sets his head down on your shoulder, and he cries, and so do you. And then he sees that window that used to make your stomach drop and squirm. And his eyes widen, and his face is so, so open. His face is thin, like the rest of him, but his cheeks are soft. And everything good about him is illuminated by the green light from your window. He walks over to it and stands so close to it you can't tell if he's touching it or not. He lifts his left hand and presses it to the window, and you walk over to him and take his right hand in yours. You're not together. You know this isn't proper. You've become friends, and that's supposed to be all. But he's oh so lovely, and he doesn't seem to mind when you hold his hand or walk a little too closely to him in the corridors. He's been so sad since the war ended, and all you want is to see a smile that isn't lonely. 

The first time you he takes you up to Gryffindor tower, you laugh because you expected everything to be very red, and instead, it's decorated very tastefully. He opens the door dramatically to his dormitory, and none of the other boys seems surprised to see you there. You think it's a rather nice feeling for there to be no reaction when you walk into the room. He chatters a bit with his friends, and then pats his bed when he sits down on it. You go there, a little awkwardly, but you will follow him anywhere. And from there, you do nothing. He hums to himself as he reads and you study, and the time passes too fast. Sun streams in through the window in beams of gold and you wish for the first time that sunlight could fall into the Slytherin common room the way it falls on his bed. Everything is so peaceful and warm that you fall asleep, and when you wake up, it's morning. You think for a moment that you got drunk and have no idea where you are, but your clothes are still on and you're laying on top of quilted covers with several textbooks on top of you, and him curled into your side with a book over his face. You've never woken up happier. 

Eighth year finishes, and you both graduate. He looks smart in his robes, you look dorky. He asks if you'd like to share an apartment with him now that school is done. You don't have to think before you say yes because you know that neither of you want to be alone somewhere empty and dark. And when you move in together, you let him decorate because he's so pleased and proud of himself. You don't tell him that it feels so much like the home you never really had that you don't ever want to leave. And the days pass, and you and him are nothing but best friends. On your nineteenth birthday, he sits you down at our kitchen table, and he looks so scared that it makes you feel like the earth has dropped out from under you and you're falling through a dark abyss. But then he tells you with a shaking voice that he's in love with you, and you are absolutely speechless, absolutely floored. 

You get up and walk slowly around the table and he watches you with his head tilted back as he sits in his chair. His eyes are as big as when he first saw the green light shimmering through your dormitory window. You stand right by him, and lean down very slowly. He is so beautiful. Tired, and nervous, and afraid, and so so beautiful. You press your lips to his very softly. Your hand threads into his hair. One hand hangs by your side, but he takes it into his. He is warm, and good, and amazing. He stands up. Everything moves so slowly. And his lips are moving against yours, and his fingers are threading into yours, and his stomach presses against yours as it always does, and his head is leaned back just barely to reach yours. He kisses the place where your neck connects to your shoulder, and you get it. He keeps holding your hand as he leads you into his room. He flops over onto his bed, and you fall on top of him without meaning to.

He.

You sit up on his stomach, and it's a bit like when you fell asleep on top of his covers in eighth year. There's no rush. No need to do anything. It's just him. You laugh, and he laughs. And you tell him that he shouldn't have looked so scared, and he says that you should have told him how you felt earlier. You grin and press kisses all over his cheeks and face. He laughs and laughs, and you can feel his stomach laughing with him under you. He takes off your shirt without taking his eyes off yours for a second. And he looks and runs his fingers over you and smiles. He takes off his own shirt, and you kiss his chest. 

Is. 

He giggles. He doesn't look lonely anymore. And when he pulls his Gryffindor shirt over your head, he is radiating nothing short of heaven. You take his glasses off so you can see his eyes, and his eyes are a little unfocused, but they're only looking at you. He teases you about the Gryffindor shirt, and you throw a pillow at his face to shut him up. You kiss him again. And again. And he blushes so hard that you can feel the heat of his cheeks on your lips. You smile softly and rest your hand on his side. 

Perfect. 

His left arm is on the bed with his hand on your thigh, and his other is lifted up to shield his face. You take that hand and pull it away from his face and lay down on top of him. His stomach is pressed up against yours, and you can feel him breathing against you. His breaths are even and full of laughs and his heart is racing. You wrap your arms around him, and lay your head next to his and inhale his scent. He hugs you, and you know that he is absolutely _everything_. 

 


End file.
